Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Insomnia and irritation
Whether it is indigestion, genuine illness, the recent inclemency of the weather disturbing my sleep patterns or just an indolent couple of days I find myself up early and distinctly irritated.
I can’t sleep.
The internet is not working again … so much for ‘Orange’ and wireless connections!
Minor annoyances (like not being fully paid) are looping around in my brain.
There are things I need to do: I have an important letter to write… but I am not able to concentrate.
Music isn’t working, which is a sure sign something is wrong.
A cup of tea made, a couple of games of solitaire on the computer completed and still no internet …
Focusing on all this by writing isn’t really going to help – it may even irritate the situation, but what is there to do? It’s been a long time since I was able to read my way out … and there is nothing ‘on the go’ which vaguely interests me anyway.
I keep returning to the wet puppy …
This afternoon, (or rather, yesterday afternoon – we are well into the early hours of the night) as I walked to the Bega, there was a young puppy – one of the wild ones. Separated from whatever family it had, bouncing after the legs of any passing human. It looked healthy – and for a brief moment I even contemplated … – but, well, the chill of mortality riddled to the surface and I passed by hoping it didn’t pick me out.
The poor creature is facing, in the near future, certain death under the wheels of a car. At least it’ll be swift, and hopefully not too painful.
About forty minutes latter I saw it again – with far less bounce and an almost puzzled look on its face. I was a little shocked. It was soaking wet and, still chasing legs, seemed far less sure if not a little dizzy.
As I sat by the river I’d seen it with a couple of boys – they initially played with it but then got bored. I saw them walking off – or trying to. The pup, as is the nature of pups, followed and wanted to continue playing. It’d learn, I thought – they’ll end up throwing stones at it – I’d holed they would not be too big.
When I saw it like this – wet and confused – I realised the boys must have thrown the dog into the river. Whether it was wanton cruelty or just playful irresponsibility, I decline to pass judgement on.
Too young, possibly too weak to shake itself, it was dripping – and had the clumped look of dark wet hair newly washed.
Again I passed hoping to get away before the anticipated as the dog followed a woman with a plastic bag of shopping towards the busy main road.
Why the inane cruelty?
Why the despair first?
Technorati Tags: Timisoara, Romania, A.K.Farrar
I can’t sleep.
The internet is not working again … so much for ‘Orange’ and wireless connections!
Minor annoyances (like not being fully paid) are looping around in my brain.
There are things I need to do: I have an important letter to write… but I am not able to concentrate.
Music isn’t working, which is a sure sign something is wrong.
A cup of tea made, a couple of games of solitaire on the computer completed and still no internet …
Focusing on all this by writing isn’t really going to help – it may even irritate the situation, but what is there to do? It’s been a long time since I was able to read my way out … and there is nothing ‘on the go’ which vaguely interests me anyway.
I keep returning to the wet puppy …
This afternoon, (or rather, yesterday afternoon – we are well into the early hours of the night) as I walked to the Bega, there was a young puppy – one of the wild ones. Separated from whatever family it had, bouncing after the legs of any passing human. It looked healthy – and for a brief moment I even contemplated … – but, well, the chill of mortality riddled to the surface and I passed by hoping it didn’t pick me out.
The poor creature is facing, in the near future, certain death under the wheels of a car. At least it’ll be swift, and hopefully not too painful.
About forty minutes latter I saw it again – with far less bounce and an almost puzzled look on its face. I was a little shocked. It was soaking wet and, still chasing legs, seemed far less sure if not a little dizzy.
As I sat by the river I’d seen it with a couple of boys – they initially played with it but then got bored. I saw them walking off – or trying to. The pup, as is the nature of pups, followed and wanted to continue playing. It’d learn, I thought – they’ll end up throwing stones at it – I’d holed they would not be too big.
When I saw it like this – wet and confused – I realised the boys must have thrown the dog into the river. Whether it was wanton cruelty or just playful irresponsibility, I decline to pass judgement on.
Too young, possibly too weak to shake itself, it was dripping – and had the clumped look of dark wet hair newly washed.
Again I passed hoping to get away before the anticipated as the dog followed a woman with a plastic bag of shopping towards the busy main road.
Why the inane cruelty?
Why the despair first?
Technorati Tags: Timisoara, Romania, A.K.Farrar
# posted by Alan K.Farrar @ 10:35 PM 
